Inside
by vanishingact
Summary: Holden finds his perfect example of purity desecrated. Getting help doesn't necessarily mean being cured. Character death, murder, prostitution.


Why is there no section for Catcher? Waugh, frustration.

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I'd only meant to take a short walk. Really, I did. I just wanted to see the city again, after being stuck in that goddam hell hole. I wound up walking for hours with my hands in my pockets, just watching my feet move and my breath come out in puffs, until I ended up in the really shady part of town. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hung in the air. It tasted heavy and bitter on my tongue. I'd missed that smell. I wasn't allowed to have more than a cigarette a day or any alcohol in that _place. _I took a deep breath and started looking for a club or a drug store, but everything was too smoky. Stuff like that makes my head spin. What does it take to get a fucking cigarette, around here?

There were all these whorey old girls, and even a couple of flitty looking guys in garters, lined up at the street corners, giving me the eye. I bet they're working in a shitty place like this because they didn't "apply themselves" in school, or some other bullshit. Well, I guess if I never stay at school long enough to graduate, I could always whore myself off. It'd be easy cash and practice for later. And if anyone got too rough, I'd just punch him in the goddam throat and take my money.

Anyway, I finally found my way to this dingy old bar. The bartender was this old fat man with a toupee that was drooping to one side of his head.

"Give me the strongest thing you've got." I slapped some money on the table and turned my head, so that the dim light would shine on my gray hairs.

"You even old enough to drink, Kid?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I hate it when people do that. It's like they think they're smarter than you or something, cocky bastards. And he looked like a jerk, too, with the hooked, snotty nose and the ugly creases on his cheeks from sneering so fucking much.

"What does it look like?" I stood up straighter. The sonuvabitch gave me a goddam coke anyway. It was warm, too. After a while, I took off my coat. I was about to put it on the seat beside me, when this girl plopped down onto it and blew a puff of smoke in my face.

"Hey there, good looking," she breathed, grinding the glowing nub of her cigarette into her palm. Her face had too much makeup on it. She looked like a badly crafted doll. Her eyelashes kept on fluttering like epileptic butterflies, so it looked like she had something in her eyes, like dust. Or maybe chunks of her layered makeup flaked off and flew into her eyeballs. Yeah, that's how much she had on, but you could still see the pimples peeking out from under it all. I guess she wanted to look mature. Her dirty auburn hair fell over her shoulders in oily waves. She must have been pretty at some point. She looked like the kind of girl who would get thousands of cheesy valentines in her desk, in grade school, from the phony bastards who rush to grow up. By this time, I'd been staring at her face for a while, and her smile was starting to droop from her face, like it was made of soft wax.

"Holden?" she whispered. I nearly flew out of my goddam seat.

"Jane?" Yeah, it was her alright. I took a good look at her. Her strong dancer legs were gone. They'd turned to skinny little bony sticks. Her arms were droopy and scarred. Her neck didn't remind me of an ivory Roman column anymore. It looked like I could snap it between my fingers, if I really wanted to. Her chest looked like a washboard, and the bones moved under her pale skin when she breathed. It looked so sad, I nearly cried.

"I have to go!" Jane had this horrific look on her face, and she tried to hobble away on her high, strappy heels. If this is how she treats an old friend, then I guess I'm kind of glad I never tried to call her up. But it's not like I wanted her to leave, or something. I grabbed her by the arm.

"Stay a while, Jane." She paused for a moment, and slid that disgusting, phony, coy look onto her face again. It didn't work on me, though. I could see the defeat and vulnerability in her unblinking eyes, and in the way the corners of her smile kept on twitching. Jesus, she looked pretty like that. But, that wasn't my Jane. The girl in front of me was a moving mannequin. She took my hand and breathed into my ear just right, like it was routine. She pushed me into the musty motel room and shut the door with her foot, like she did it every night. And when she kissed me, I started to cry. I couldn't hold it back.

"Stop it," she hissed. "You told me to stay, and I'm doing it."

"Jane!" I was sobbing, now. "You're not Jane. Give her back!" She had to be there somewhere, buried under all that crap on that pretty face. Maybe she was trapped by that goddam lacy lingerie, peeking out from under her dress. It didn't look like she was listening, so I grabbed her arms and shook her. Not hard, or anything. I swear.

"Let me go!" she screamed, trying to wrestle away from me. She kept looking back at the door, like she was hoping someone would hear her annoying yelling. But I guess they're all used to these kinds of things. She bit my hand, and I let go of one of her thin arms, that sonuvabitch.

"Be Jane again," I moaned. "Jane, this life isn't for you. We can run away. I can take you away from here!" I thought it was a pretty nice offer, but maybe she thought I was lying. She reached under the hem of her dress and pulled out a pitiful little knife, a blunt, short, pathetic old thing. I guess she thought I was as weak as back when we used to play checkers. She didn't resist too much when I plucked the blade from her hand and pinned her to the wall, with my arm pressed against her throat.

"Please, Holden," she choked, "It's still me, inside." She gave me that defenseless look again, the one I can't resist. I could feel her pulse against my wrist. Or maybe it was mine. Anyway, it was driving me crazy. It spread to my head, then through the rest of my body, pounding and pounding and pounding. My grip on the knife in my other hand tightened and dug into her hip.

"I'll save you, Jane." I could barely see straight anymore. "I'll save you." I dragged the dull blade up her thigh, but it wasn't sharp enough to do any harm. So I pressed harder. I cut through all those goddam prison bars covering her body and ripped at her dress. She was bleeding, but that was alright. I was doing this for her.

Her naked skin was beautiful, but this wasn't my Jane. This was daddy's little whore. Her pulse was still rushing through my body, pounding in my ears. It kept singing in her voice, "It's still me, inside. It's still me, inside." Her heart was asking for help. I knew it. How could I deny her?

"It's still you, inside." I pressed the rounded tip of the knife against her chest. I really had to push for it to go in. I wrenched my arm down, the metal of the blade knocking obnoxiously against her bones. When I reached her navel, I pulled out and created three more strokes to make a bloody square across her torso. That would be the door for Jane. I began to carve out the doorway with the blade, with my fingernails, with anything.

"H-H-Hol..." she gargled. It was disgusting the way her blood trickled from her mouth like syrup, and the way her eyes lolled around in her head.

"What did you say?" I leaned in closer to her face, but she didn't say anything. "Jane," I sang, "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" I knew Jane would like that. Jane loves games. I let go of her and let her fall onto the floor. Placing the knife between my teeth, I began to claw at the bloody box on her body with my nails. Jane had to be there, somewhere. But after a while, I had to stop. My head was pounding something fierce, and my hands felt like they were pulsating. I could hear the loud beat pounding at the skin of my throat. It felt sick and dirty.

"Don't give me your filth!" I screamed at the body in front of me. I felt like sewage was filling my guts with every beat. I took the knife that had fallen onto the floor, and began to rip through my neck. I had to get out that pulsation. You know, torn flesh isn't as painful and disgusting as it sounds in those murder books. It's actually kind of nice. It's warm. Black spots started to flicker across my eyelids, before I realized how much blood was soaking into my shirt. Then that warm feeling went away, and my fingertips went numb. I could still feel that horrible beat pounding in my ears. Nothing ever goes right. Everything's always got to have a goddam counter effect. I hate that.

I wanted to stay awake for when Jane would come back to me, but I couldn't stay awake. She'll understand. She always does.

I never meant to die a goddam virgin. Really.

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My teacher didn't like this story all that much.


End file.
